


Leksa kom Trikru

by bouj525



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode 307 spoilers, F/F, Happy Ending, Lexa Centric, Protective Lexa, clexa trash, lexa life, lexa reuniting with everyone, post 307
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:01:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6160441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bouj525/pseuds/bouj525
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PART 1: Lexa's life, from the beginning to the end, and every way Clarke moved her.</p><p>PART 2: Lexa reunites with Anya, Costia and eventually, Clarke. </p><p>Kind of sad. Kind of happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> YESTERDAY I WAS WRITING A HAPPY ENDING AND TODAY I AM WRITING THIS.
> 
> This isn't proofread, it is just something I had to write to let the shock pass a little. This isn't really a story, but I tried.
> 
> SPOILERS FOR 307.

** Leksa Kom Trikru **

She comes to life with a tiny cry, the kind of sound that brings the fuel of life in her lungs, and makes her heart pumps blood strongly in her chest. She barely opens her eyes, but the emerald color is forever tattooed in her parent’s eyes, as she is taken away from the safety of her mother’s arms. She is wrapped in a warm fur blanket and brought near the delicate flame of a candle.

“Do it,” a man’s voice orders.

The knife is sharp against her pink sensible skin, and when it pierces through her vein, she struggles against the hold of the strong arms. A tiny black drop appears from her body as a gasp escapes from the man’s throat. She is declared nighblood, and is fated to a life of training and perfections. She is condemned to a lifetime of violence the second her parents give her an identity.

She is Leksa kom Trikru.

***

She is two, barely able to speak, but fully able to walk. She doesn’t crawl anymore, and as soon as she stops falling, she is brought outside. She stands on the dirty ground, looking curiously around her. She is amongst two other infants, who can hardly keep their balance compared to her. She observes quietly when a tall woman comes to meet them, bringing small wooden knives.

She has no idea yet, but this is the first and last time she will ever train with toys.

She is asked to pick one, and she does so, her small hands barely able to close solidly around the hilt. Her brain has strange ideas, and she wonders how that new toy would taste like if she put it in her mouth. She wants to try, but her motion is stopped by a gentle hand lowering hers. Her eyes meet golden ones, and she understands she cannot eat this long shaped stick.

She sees the woman holding her long stick proudly in the air, and she immediately feels the need to do the same, to command the same energy around her. She tries to raise her small sword, but the weight surprises her, and she falls forward as her balance is shattered. She tastes mud in her mouth and spits.

She doesn’t like this game, but she is forced to play until her hands hurt from too many blisters and her legs trembles under her frail body.

***

She is eight, and her arms are strong as she blocks the attacks of her mentor. She is bleeding from her left arm, but she doesn’t let the pain get to her. Anya fights with two swords, while she is practicing with only one. She is faster, and it gives her an advantage against the older woman. She doesn’t fear blades anymore, doesn’t wince at the sight of blood, and doesn’t flinch when her own is spilled on the ground.

She has fire in her eyes and her heart is burning in her chest, full of life. She feels strong, and invincible. She feels unreachable by the world, for she is busy learning how to protect herself against the greatest enemies. She doesn’t let her soul being distracted by the shadows she thinks she sees, roaming around them, hidden by the trees’ shadows.

Perhaps she should have paid more attention to them.

Anya falls on her knees, an arrow grossly sticking out of her shoulder. The mentor lets a painful scream that echoes in the forest, but she keeps her head up, eyes scanning the trees. She will make the life of her young protégé comes first, even if she must pay with her own. It takes Lexa one more second to notice what the blonde woman spots first, as one of her two swords is thrown in the direction of branches. The man crashes violently to the ground as he yells in pain at the weapon piercing through his chest.

He isn’t dead, and Anya can’t get up anymore. The young girl watches with confused eyes as the tallest woman difficultly gestures something she doesn’t quite understand. She fixes the warrior, suffering as a bright red pool slowly grows at her feet. She is quiet, waiting for her mentor to guide her, when she realizes she must decide herself, and run to get help. She takes a deep breath.

“Yu gonplei ste odon,” she murmurs for the first time despite having heard this sentence already countless times.

Her tiny sword makes the giant’s heart explodes in his chest, and her gaze remains steady as she tastes her first kill.

***

She is thirteen, and in love with a woman whose light brown hair flow graciously in the wind, and whose eyes bring happiness wherever she goes. She is speechless  by the way her heart skips a beat, the way her breath catches in her throat, and the way she can’t seem to do anything right when she sees Costia. It is a harsh contrast with her reality, which is defined by the constant need for improvement, the eternal quest for perfection, the endless road to defy death.

She makes warriors bows to her, makes men twice her size fall in her arms as she takes their life, and yet, at the end of the day, she is the one falling into the softest of embrace as Costia’s scent masks the one of blood. She falls asleep between stolen kisses and gentle touches.

She loves life.

 It is a perfect balance between sanity and madness, between peace and violence, between love and hatred. It is magical, in the way she loses herself in Costia’s presence, and brutal, in the way she saves herself from the hands of her enemies. It is mind blowing, in the way Costia’s hands weaken her, and heart shattering, in the way her own hands get to take another’s innocence.

She comes close to death a thousand times, but fights her way back to life just to see those eyes again.

***

She is sixteen and blood is dripping from her head as she stands above the body of her last known challenger. Her eyes dare anyone to defy her, and when she finds no brave spirit, she nods, sealing her fate as Heda, the new Commander. She stands tall. She has revolutionary plans that could stop the anarchy they have been surviving in. She wishes to create a real coalition that would minimize the casualties.

It is Costia’s idea, and she finds her lover’s eyes through the crowd, shining with a mix of fear and affection.

She finds Anya’s gaze on her, and is surprised by the tiny smile she notices on her mentor’s lips. The blonde woman’s smiles are as rare as snow during the warmest days, and Lexa finds herself smiling back in a hidden way that only Anya can decrypt. Protector and protégé share a final nod, as they both prepare for separated lives. Anya’s pride for Lexa radiates through the world, and shakes the planet with similar force to the nuclear war, all those years ago.

Lexa makes silent promises to her people, and leaves Trikru in direction of Polis with the three pillars in her head: Wisdom, compassion and strength.

She is Heda.

***

She is in her bed, sleeping, when she jumps and grabs her knife at the sound of a knock on her door. She has received threats from the Ice Nation recently, and she is not about to make the mistake to let them in to take her life. She tiptoes to the door and is about to ask who it is when the voice of her guard announces the arrival of a box, from Azgeda.

She glances at the empty bed behind her, and prays that Costia is at her mother’s house.

She dismisses her guards as soon as she manages to get the box inside. She doesn’t want to be disturbed, and she trusts her capacity to protect herself. She circles it, waiting for any sound to hint her on its content, but receives none. She opens it in a fluid, steady movement, and freezes at the sight.

She hates life.

She can’t breathe anymore, and she battles with her lungs to let air in, but her body betrays her as her knees collide with the cold floor. She shakes in the darkness of her room, letting her walls come down to let madness flow through her. She manages to keep her agonizing cries inside her head as a solitary tear rolls down her cheek. She is torn apart by airborne acid, and feels her spirit being crushed to dust. She is being buried alive, but death doesn’t come, it never does.

She remembers the way Costia looked at her when she left Polis the same morning, and lets out a single sob when she realizes, they never got to say goodbye.

***

Lexa hears the sound of Anya’s voice, but has stopped listening the moment she was informed of the burnt bridge. Her rage grows and she has to stop herself from impulsivity as she thinks of all those unknown people, all those others, daring to step in her territory and decimate her army. She orders their deaths, all of them.

“Jus drein jus daun,” she murmurs.

This is the way it must be. Those words were part of her first lesson as a young warrior. It was a mantra that she strongly believed in, one that she would never betray for anything in the world. It was her way of life, her definition of justice. She knows her mentor deserves justice for the loss of her people, and she will never stop her from getting it.

She exchanges glances with Anya, and remembers her younger years, when innocence hadn’t been ripped from her yet, when laughs were part of her daily adventures, and when swords were used for protection, but also to trace hearts in the sand soil. She recalls the way Anya taught her to respect her people, to never take them for granted, and to never neglect their needs. She has every lesson memorized in her soul, every word scarred in her brain.

She doesn’t say goodbye, and this time, when she receives the blow of Anya’s death, she knows how to not fall apart.

***

“You’re the one who burned three hundred of my warriors alive.”

She has hair the color of the sun, eyes that make competition to the sky itself, and a posture that commands respect, but Lexa isn’t intimidated by that stranger standing in front of her. She is the Commander, she could crush this woman simply by raising a hand. She has nothing to fear, and no one to listen to but herself. She doesn’t need anyone to make a decision, and frankly, she has already made one.

The Sky People are not welcome on her territory. It doesn’t matter what the girl will say, Lexa has already sealed their fate. She has brought twelve clans together, she can definitely stands for herself in front of this disorganized group that pretends to belong to a land that isn’t theirs.

“You’re the one who sent them there to kill us.”

Lexa’s eyes widen for a millimeter, and she curses mentally when she realizes the Sky Leader probably noticed it. The knife she’s twirling stops its movement. The air she’s breathing smells differently. The way she’s sitting in her imposing throne doesn’t feel as comfortable as it used to be. For the first time, she feels like an imposter, a child pretending to know how to play war. She feels her inner force wavers in the presence of Clarke of the Sky People, and she hopes she is mistaken in its meaning.

She wonders if Clarke of the Sky People is so different from her, or if they are both leaders improvising to cheat death.

***

 She hears the way their hearts beat strongly, synchronizing their rhythm. She feels Clarke’s lip moving against her, not moving away, and she slowly pulls her closer. She can’t fully realize this is happening. She is overwhelmed by affection, because the woman she has fallen with, the woman who is the same as her, yet the complete opposite at the same time, is kissing her back, and even if it’s just for a second, it blurs the hard reality she’s always been living in.

She has hope.

In the middle of a fight, in the midst of a battle, she has found hope, and she never wants to let it go. Uncertainties and impossibilities ravage the inside of her soul, and leave her feeling as alive as she used to be, when Heda wasn’t a title she had on her shoulders yet.

She knows Clarke is wrong, but a tiny part of her, one she thought was long gone, has come back to life. She has hope that someday, they won’t be define by their responsibilities, but rather by who they truly are. She tilts her head, ever so slightly, and bumps her nose with Clarke’s. She wants to believe that someday, they will look back at this kiss, and realize this means something bigger.

It’s a simple gesture, but on the edge of war, it’s all she needs to remind herself they still have humanity.

***

Wanheda, the mountain slayer.

This name is on every lips, including hers. She had nightmares of that fateful night, the one she had to turn her back to Clarke to save her people. She dreamed about betrayals and massacres, blood and fluids of all sorts escaping dead bodies. She knew, the moment she left, that Clarke would be fine, because it is what the deal included.

The safety of Clarke of the Sky people.

She made this choice with her head, but the fact that Clarke would be fine played huge on the balance. She knew she was going to be hated. She knew Clarke would most likely want her dead She would rather have Clarke alive, and cursing her existence, spitting on her shadow and imagining her dead body as a relief, than dead. She will bear the other woman’s animosity, because she is powerless to do anything else.

She doesn’t fall apart when she thinks of the legend. She doesn’t cry, doesn’t smile, doesn’t let her feelings take over, for she is Heda, and she can’t afford to appear weak when Azgeda is gaining strength again. She has learned, from her young age, that being a leader came with sacrifice. Victory stands on the back of sacrifice, and it had taken many years for her to fully understand what it meant. She doesn’t want to seek Clarke, but she needs to.

Only Clarke can stop this war, and only Clarke can bring them peace.

She tries to ignore the ache in her heart when she thinks of the way Clarke will react to her presence. She wishes she could make Clarke understand, but she knows the blonde woman already knows her reasons, and refuses to hear them. Lexa won’t ask for forgiveness, because there is nothing to forgive. There is only acceptance, and it takes time, time they both aren’t able to get.

The voice of Roan of Azgeda reaches her ears and she braces herself for their ultimate meeting.

***

She smiles widely, something she had stopped believing in when Costia died, and started hoping for when Clarke’s voice stopped accusing her of crimes she didn’t directly commit. Her eyes are lost in a pool of the bluest tones, and she thinks she sees something change in the way Clarke looks at her, in the way the blonde’s eyes glance toward her lips.

When they kiss for the second time, she is not Heda, she is Leksa kim Trikru, a young woman who has been introduced too soon to the cruelty of this world.

She finds refuge in Clarke’s embrace and kisses. It is different than the other time. It doesn’t feel like a mere island of affection, but rather a continent of blooming love. She is surprised. She doesn’t feel weak, not even a little. She feels strong, and protected, and the way Clarke’s body falls further onto hers creates sensations she had never thought she’d feel again.

She falls back on the bed, body trembling from anticipation, asking a thousand questions through a simple look, and receiving a single answer from Clarke’s eyes.

Their kiss grows deeper, and she wants to cry from the heaviness leaving her shoulders, even just for a few seconds. She had been so afraid to even touch the other woman. She had been waiting, patiently, for any sign of remembrance for their affection from the other leader, but she had never thought she would ever be kissed in this enchanting way again. Clarke brings her peace, and if this is what it feels like, she is ready to change every rule to reach their common goal. She will shatter boundaries and hunt whoever opposes them.

They are both women, juggling with the weight of the future threatening them like a guillotine ready to be unlocked. They both need to focus on themselves, on healing their past and preserving their present. They both want what is best for their people, at the sacrifice of their own happiness, of their own lives, but this moment, this single night, is theirs.

She isn’t sure if she is forgiven, but she is sure she is loved. She is happy. It awfully reminds her of the ways she never got to say goodbye.

She is scared this is goodbye.

***

She hears the bullet before she feels it. She has never have a bullet tearing her apart before, but it takes her by surprise, how quick her body reacts, pumping adrenaline and endorphins, saving her from the imminent pain she is sure to feel. She barely has time to register the hurt in Clarke’s eyes before she falls to the ground, dark blood running out of her body.

Where is the air she needs to live? It doesn’t seem to enter her lungs anymore, and when it does, the pain shoots through her body. She doesn’t know where to put her hands, what to look at. Of all the ways she had imagined her death, dying from a stray bullet never crossed her mind. This is a gun from the Sky, and she belongs to the ground, and this is tragic, the way she was finally ready to trust some of Clarke’s people, only to die from their weapon.

“Lexa!”

She hears Clarke’s voice, but it sounds distant. Where is Clarke, is she safe? She refuses to die if without knowing what is happening. She sees Titus’s petrified face, panic, shame, guilt, and despair painting every line of his face. She notices Murphy in the back, staring at them silently. She feels Clarke’s hands pressing on her stomach, and she wishes she could tell her to stop, tell her that she is ready to die, but for once, she isn’t sure she is.

She is ready, but she doesn’t want to die.

She was building something. She was building a new life, a new way to not simply survive, but live truly through every minute. She was starting to believe in love again, in somedays and maybe’s, and kisses and warm embraces. She was hoping to receive Clarke’s affection, without the pressure of their duties above them. She was finally going toward a different ending, one that didn’t conclude in violence and terror, but rather comprehension and peace.

She hears the way Clarke’s voice struggles to stay steady, the way the blonde woman fights to remember everything she knows that could serve to help Lexa survives. Behind this, she hears the way the voice she has grown to love breaks, panics, cracks under the ache. She feels the way Clarke’s fingers shakes violently while trying to control the escape of her life, and the way Clarke’s eyes are haunted by tenderness and misery at the same time.

She wants to say so much, but she cannot.

She wants to tell Clarke that she will save them. She wants to tell her she will live, and that she will be by her side to bring peace back where it belongs, but she knows, deep inside, that her time has come. She knows despite Clarke’s abilities, she will close her eyes, and not open them again. She wants to tell Clarke that everything will be fine, that the blonde has nothing to worry about, but she isn’t sure her lover from the sky is ready to hear those words. Clarke would probably not believe her.

She wants Clarke to smile.

She doesn’t want to leave with the image of Clarke’s beautiful face tainted by distress in her mind. She wants to see Clarke, the woman, and not the leader. She wants to see the human behind this fortress, the soul behind this body. She wants to kiss her, and make love to her, and she is devastated when she realizes it won’t happen. Her mere attempts to calm the other woman ends with refutation, with deny of the final outcome, and she wishes she had Clarke’s optimism. She wishes she had Clarke’s ability to see the beauty of the world despite its pervert hideousness.  

There are so many things she wants, so many things she thought she could have, but she is Heda, and a long life is not something she is familiar with.

She wonders what will drive Clarke’s soul once she is gone. She hopes her lover won’t spiral her way through madness. She wishes she could stay, just to protect Clarke’s spirit. It reminds her so much of herself, before she lost her way through her obligations. She prays for Clarke to remain herself, to not give in to the pain the way she did, because life is so much more than surviving, and she only now fully comes to that realization.

Clarke.

Lexa fights to remain alive, because Clarke is not safe. The bullet was not meant for her. Had things be different, the blonde woman would be the one lying on the floor right now, while Lexa would be looking over her with destruction in her eyes and anarchy in her soul, ready to kill Titus with her own bare hands. Instead, she can put her trust in his hands, and it tears her apart.

“You will never attempt to harm Clarke,” she barks through gritted teeth.

She is not dying until she knows Clarke is safe. She has lived a hundred times, and this is the legacy she wants to pass, Clarke’s safety. She wants peace in Clarke’s heart. Lexa wants to find the right words to convince Clarke that death really is not the end, that she should not sell her soul to grief.

 “I don’t want the next commander. I want you.”

She winces as Clarke’s voice reaches her, begging and comforting at the same time. She feels attacked by the message sent to her by these simple sentences, but her mind is gone. She recalls the way Costia’s head was sent to her in the middle of the night, and the way her spear brought the Ice Queen as a gift on a silver plate to death. She remembers the way Clarke’s fingers brushed against her skin in the purest way, and smiles through the pain.

She had justice, and she is loved. She feels complete for the first time in forever.

She looks at the bluest eyes for an eternity, and she is sure now, convinced through every atom of her body, that this woman is the physical representation of beauty. Her heart throbs, pumping torments through her body rather than the source of life, as she realizes the depth of these words, the meaning that is conveyed to her.

Clarke wants her. The blonde leader didn’t simply fall for the Commander’s spirit. She didn’t fall for the young woman because they were so similar in their fates. She fell for the five years old who spent her free time climbing trees, tasting liberty at extreme heights. She fell for the six years old who pouted when she was told she couldn’t do something because she was too young yet. She fell for the seven years old whose hands hadn’t spilled blood yet. She fell for the dreamer, looking up at the sky, searching for answers when she doubted herself, unaware that she was looking straight at her personal savior. She fell for the visionary, the freshness of all that is Lexa.

But Clarke also fell for Heda, the ruthless leader whose mantra used to be “jun drein jus daun.” She fell for someone who has never lived past her mid twenties, and who will never have the chance to. She fell for someone whose childhood was filled with training and battle cries. She fell for a nightblood. She fell for someone whose anthem shares tales of nightmarish futures and haunting melancholia. She fell for someone whose sword has stolen thousands of lives without mercy.

What is it again, the thing Skaikru say? She needs to offer Clarke something. She needs to offer Clarke hope, the way the blonde brought her some, weeks ago. She wants her words to be remembered, because they are true, and Clarke might not believe her unless she says them out loud. She needs Clarke to remain strong, but she has no guarantee to make sure her lover won’t fall apart.

“May we meet again."

She feels Clarke pushing on her stomach, the stubbornness in her eyes throwing arrows at her. She knows Clarke won’t let go. She understands. It isn’t easy to let go. It took her way too long to let go of Costia’s ghost, and she can only implore mentally that Clarke won’t go through the same things she did. She doesn’t want Clarke to be tortured by a loss that isn’t hers to bear, that wasn’t for her to witness.

She always thought the only road to follow was hers, until Clarke had showed her another possibility, a miracle hidden behind rotten bodies.

Death welcomes her, the way it always has. It isn’t dark, it isn’t light. She doesn’t feel physical pain, but her spirit is tortured by the departure. She had prayed to feel again despite repeating that love was weakness, and now that she feels in the deepest part of her soul, she isn’t ready to forget, to stop feeling.

"You were right, Clarke, life is about more than just surviving."

She gets lost in Clarke’s kiss.

She believes in a forever.

She believes that they are more than just Heda and Wanheda.

She believes they weren’t simply meteorites passing by each other.

She believes they are greater than this, than life and death.

She believes that they will find each other again.

Her fight is over.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they meet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up writing a second part because I couldn't not write it with the multiple fanarts about this.
> 
> It is a little longer, but I think it can bring us a happier ending than whatever 307 mess was.
> 
> If you haven't read part 1, I suggest you do.
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading :)
> 
> I wrote this mostly with "Cactus in the valley" by Lights.

_She is five years old when she is introduced to the woman meant to become her mentor._

_Her eyes are struggling to stay open as she clenches her hands around the hilts of the knives that have become extensions of her body. She has been up for more than thirty hours, and her thin body fights the sleep the way she fought in her first battle against other nightbloods, just a few days ago. She is a quick learner, and she already doesn’t let the sight of wounds disgust her. She doesn’t run away at the sight of warriors so large they could swallow her whole, and she knows how to hold her weapons to avoid painful cuts._

_She is looking in the eyes of a woman barely out of teenage years. She feels like she is passing an important examination, and she straightens her back, trying to look as giant as her minuscule height allows her to. She doesn’t want to deceive that woman. She might be a candidate to become Heda, but she is facing one of the best fighters of her clan, and Lexa refuses to look weak._

_“What’s your name, kid?”_

_“Leksa kom Trikru.”_

_The blonde woman nods once, moving around the young nightblood._

_“You and me, we’re a team now. You do as I say, until I decide I can trust you won’t die.”_

_Lexa accepts the silent contract and nods once. She doesn’t have any choice. She knows she can trust this stranger she just met. She ignores where this feeling comes from, but it grows in her like a second nature, like there is no place for doubt in her heart about this. She trusts that woman, and she always will. She removes her dagger from its pocket and gives it to Anya, who takes it and slices her hand open. They shake hands, ink black mixing with bright red._

_“You won’t die. Not under my watch.”_

_It sounds like words being burned in diamonds, a sentence that will remain true until the very end of their journey. Anya’s eyes shines through the darkness of the earlier morning like two stars guiding Lexa home safely._

_When Lexa kills her first warrior, three years later, she understands the full meaning of those words._

_Anya removes two swords from behind her back. She swings them around, becoming one with the two deathly blades, twisting her body in a tornado of fatality, and slides one toward the young girl in a fluid movement._

_“Pick it up. You will need it.”_

_When Lexa uses all her efforts to not fall under the weight of a blade twice her size, she thinks nothing will ever compare to that hard cold pressure on her hands._

_When Lexa fights Roan in a deathly battle, years later, the swords weight no more than mere feathers in her hands._

***

Lexa thinks she is sleeping.

She has no idea how long she has been in this situation, but she has a feeling time isn’t the king anymore. Time is part of the living, a guide, sometimes misleading, to travel through the tight paths of their days. When there is nothing to accomplish anymore, no calculations to make at all cost, no pressure of limits, no physiological needs to be satisfied, time is useless.

She feels lighter than she ever has before, and she drowns in such comfort. She feels like she just woke up from a long, peaceful sleep, and yet, she knows she doesn't have to open her eyes, for they were never closed in the first place.

She has no idea where she is, but it feels like she has always been there, like it is her home already, like a part of her had been waiting for her to arrive. She never knew that part had been missing from her before reuniting with it.

She smells trees, yet sees none. She feels the air brush against her skin, yet she is certain that wherever she is contains only pure void. She feels a solid ground under her feet, one which she cannot perceived clearly. Her skin responds to the almost imperceptive colder waves, and she shivers slightly. She feels so much, but her senses are troubled by illusions of absence of any material structures.

She feels strangely whole, in this fragmented place

She isn't sure if her body is solid, or if she can finally see the space that separate every atoms that composes it. She is back to being a stranger to herself, the way she has always slightly been, never fully understanding where she truly stood. She assumes that physic laws don't govern the place, and gravity doesn't exist.

The pain radiating through her body is long gone, and she wonders if it has ever been there at all. She wonders what made it go away.

She doesn't hear Clarke's broken voice anymore, doesn't feel the taste of lips on hers anymore, doesn't sense the pressure of the familiar ache in her stomach anymore. Perhaps the many years she has lived as a warrior were just an endless nightmare that has finally come to an end.

She feels whole, but she has never felt so empty at the same time.

She doesn't belong here. For as long as she could remember, the Commander's spirit never wandered that far once it left its body. It always moved on to another, always ready to learn more, to adapt to the new society, to survive through the hard times, and to die for its people. She still feels the echoes of the anticipation of bloodied wars and she is certain now, the Commander's spirit never got lost in such a labyrinth, which exit obviously won't lead to another body.

There are many countless things the Commander's spirit never did, and it all changed the second people started raining from the edge of the universe, making the previous harmony explode in tiny pieces.

"Did you die well?"

She hears the steady, slightly challenging, voice and a small smile traces its way to her lips when the words combine in her mind to form a sentence she herself pronounced many weeks ago. She turns, and the shadow whose eyes are buried in Lexa smirks at widened green eyes. The silence takes residence between them, and none seems to know how to react.

They were never supposed to meet that soon.

Were they even supposed to meet at all?

Lexa feels small under the scrutiny of the taller woman, whose posture still commands the same amount of respect as it always did during their living years. It is almost as if the roles were back to the relation they had always shared during their younger years, Lexa waiting to be taught about the world, and Anya waiting for questions that are nearly impossible to answer.

"When your mentor asks a question, you answer, even if you are Heda," Anya's voice sounds clear, like a hard anchor amongst all the blurred streams that are threatening to make Lexa's sanity sink right now.

Lexa nods, a cloud of obedience masking her eyes, twirling with the excitement of seeing the warrior she never got the chance to say goodbye to. She remembers the spearing force with which Anya's death pierced through her solid heart of steel, and how she barely flinched at the details. She remembers, because she had promised herself, after Costia's death, that falling apart was no longer an option. Seeing Anya right now feels like the closure she never realized she badly needed.

Still, she cannot find an answer to the question despite her numerous efforts.

She finds it curious, and strangely desperate, how people always asks about the way death occurred, always giving importance to the end of their lives. She wonders if it is because they were all born the same way, and their only distinction, the only way to be truly remembered, laid in the way they left. Was death so important that people chose to go through the highest pain, simply to be remembered?

She finds it tragic, the way someone's grandiose life can entirely be dismissed, wiped out and erased, simply based on the way they let go of life.

She would like to say that her death was not the greatest. It was not the one her spirit had always been used to, and certainly not the one she had expected. She had always thought she would die in war, in a battle, fighting beside her warriors, and ready to sacrifice herself to protect her coalition. She used to dream of the way her last breath would be her most important one, bringing another era to the starting line

"Did you forget how to speak when you made your way here?" Anya blinks once.

Lexa sighs, and shakes her head ever so slightly. She would like to tell Anya that she died protecting the one person that had brought her back to life, but she knows the truth is somber than that, much simpler.

She died because she wanted to see Clarke, because she was too distracted by thinking about what she was going to say, and she did not knock at the door, because she was at the wrong place, at the worse moment. She died because of a mere wound to the stomach, and not even by the hand of her enemy.

Her glorious life ended because of a stray bullet shot by a weapon she didn't even know existed, just a few months ago.

She had spent a lifetime, many of them, swinging swords and throwing knives, avoiding poisons in cups and rotten food, racing against time, spinning amongst the sparks of life and death, kissing the torturous ground on which she grew up, only to succumb to the hand of a man she thought she could trust.

"I died by Clarke's side," is all she managed to say.

She isn't sure if it's an answer Anya will accept, but it is one she is willing to give. It is one that satisfies her, that makes her at peace with the way she felt her body stop functioning. It is one answer that makes sense to her, perhaps the only one that protects her from the thousands of questions and wilder emotions that are flying around her.

Anything else she could say wouldn't matter anymore. What is done is part of the past, and she is no longer in that place. She doesn't want to remember anything else, but the way Clarke's trembling lips made a final contact with hers, sealing a quiet promise between them.

The promise of meeting each other again.

She suddenly regrets not saying those three words that had almost slipped past her will.

"Clarke's side," Anya says thoughtfully. "We have that in common. That woman ruined us both, didn’t she?"

It is a rhetorical question, and Lexa is certain that those words are not meant. She knows, by the way Clarke spoke of Anya, that the two of them shared something more than being heartless enemies. Lexa also knows, and the thought sends a painful shock to her system, that Clarke did ruin her, in the best possible ways.

Lexa sighs as she recalls the way she was told Anya fell under the bullet of Skaikru. She remembers the way Clarke told her that her mentor wanted to deliver a message of optimism and peace for the future years. She remembers the first time the words of alliances escaped the mouth she already knew she wanted to taste someday, and the way her heart skipped with hope, despite rationality fighting against her feelings.

She wonders why it is that they both died, when all they wanted was to promote peace. She wonders why wars and violence are so intimately linked to the notion of peace and tranquility.

She thinks, if victory stood on the back of sacrifice, then peace stands on the back of ruthless savagery.

She suspects they were condemned to remain stuck in that vicious circle, no matter what decision she made regarding their « jus drein jus daun » mantra.

The young commander swallows at the thought that those barbaric strangers, murderers from a different universe, came from the same world of the stars she used to look at to ease her thoughts. The sky, she visualizes, is a mix of anarchy, disorder, harmony and order, and identifying which part is which is a task that has not been fulfilled yet.

"I saved that woman's life, and I got a bullet in exchange." Anya sighs. "The moment she blew up three hundred of my warriors, I knew she was going to be permanent trouble. She reminded me of you, when you went through that rebel phase of yours during which you refused to listen to my wise advices.”

The serious tone of Lexa’s mentor has switched to an amused one, and the green eyed woman can’t help but be thankful for the lighter atmosphere. If there is one thing she knew Anya was good at, it is to make them comfortable even in the heaviest conversations.

“You wanted me to jump off a waterfall as high as Polis’ tower. You know I live in trees rather than lakes and rivers.”

“Jumping off a waterfall is what saved both Clarke and I from the hands of the Mountain Men. Do not underestimate my advices. I told you I’d keep alive as long as I’d be by your side, and I did.”

Lexa feels her eyes blur at the mention of their former greatest enemies. There is so much she wants to say, and she can’t form any coherent sentences. She imagines Anya locked in a cage, unable to escape, and only then does she realize that she hasn’t even touched her mentor yet.

She hesitantly moves her hands toward her mentor’s forearm. She had said farewell to human contacts soon after gaining the title of Heda, reacquainting with them only for a short time before the murder of her lover, and slowly acknowledging them again with Clarke’s body. But Clarke is gone, and so is her title as Commander of the coalition.

She briefly wonders if Clarke left her, or if she left Clarke. She briefly ponders with the possibility that she might still be Heda, for there is no one to tell her the opposite, no one to tell her she isn’t anymore.

Is it all gone because she reached death before the living world could catch up with her, or is she in this place now because the living world decided to run forward, leaving her behind?

“Don’t make that face,” Anya says as she strongly grips Lexa’s arm, both melting through the familiarity of a close friend. “You did well. You got our people free.”

“Clarke did,” Lexa corrects, giving the Sky leader proper credits. “I wish you never...”

“I know. But I was captured. It was not your fault. I died in the forest, and not in a cage. I was free.”

Lexa believes she did too, died freely. She left the world drunk in freedom’s taste, liberated from chains that held her back from ever feeling something, anything. She was changing their ways, moving on to a better tomorrow.

Even more importantly, she died knowing she was still able to love.

Still, she wants to apologize to her mentor, for all the advices she discarded, all the ways she deceived her in the past, all the wrong turns she ever took. She feels words will never be enough. She wishes she could tell Anya how much she owes her, how important their bond is.

She has never been great with spoken words, but she conveys everything in the single touch they share; the crushing guilt she had been left with, the shield she had erected around her heart, the nights she spent, wide awake, forcing herself to not let a single tear fall down.

She wants to apologize for the way she became so focused in Clarke’s presence that she neglected her own safety. She wants to say she regrets dying too soon.

She wants to thank her mentor for protecting her through every step of her short life, for risking her life for protecting her whenever she was careless enough to provoke another warrior, or distracted enough to fall into an enemy’s trap. She desires nothing more than proving Anya that she did the best she could, because she learned from the very best.

She wonders if “sorry” means the same once you can no longer breathe air through your lungs.

She wonders if “thank you” means the same once you no longer have heartbeats in your chest.

“Tell me about Clarke.”

Lexa’s smile appears like it has never been gone, and Anya’s eyebrow twitches at the sight.

“I- “

“No. No need to explain,” Anya smirks. “Your face tells me all I need to know.”

Lexa opens her mouth, wanting to refute the accusation, but she finds she cannot. Anya has known her for so long, lying would be a sign of disrespect.

“I knew something would happen. You say what you want, but I knew Costia wasn’t the end for you. And Clarke, she was different from us. She shared your vision of a different way to do things when our people were too blind by our ancient traditions. She was something new. She was the change you needed. She changed you, for the better.”

“She did. I don’t know how she did it, but she did.” Lexa nods, soul lost in memories of heated kisses and bruised necks.

“Did you get to tell her?”

Lexa looks down, and Anya slightly punches the younger woman’s shoulder. She looks at the girl she transformed into a powerful warrior, at the cost of her capacity to communicate her deepest feelings.

“You’ll need to tell her when you see her. I thought I taught you better. When you’re a warrior, you can’t put anything back to the next day. And just because your fight ended earlier than expected doesn’t mean you get to escape that moment.”

“Isn’t it too late?”

It’s a question shouted into the void, a demand that transcends times and spaces, a request for a specific answer that is so badly needed that Lexa feels her entire being explode under the implications. It’s a wish she makes while staring at invisible shooting stars, a hope she translated into a few words.

“We’re talking right now. It’s never too late.” Anya declares with a tone that leaves no place for discussion.

Lexa nods again. Her mentor has always stated what she thought would be the best answer, and she never lied.

“Now tell me about Clarke. I changed my mind. I want to know more about the woman who made you smile so bright I thought you were not really you. I saved her after all. You owe me a good story,” Anya grins.

Lexa resists the urge to roll her eyes, instead fixing them on the taller woman staring proudly at her.

Lexa doesn’t know where she is, but she knows that Clarke isn’t by her side, and the thought is unbearable.

 She was never fully ready to die, and she’s only realizing it now. She always thought she was, after all, because it was part of the way she grew up, never fearing death, always welcoming it as a part of hers that was simply late to the journey. Now she knew, she had been ready to leave her body behind, but she would never have been ready to leave Clarke behind.

Anya made it a little easier. Anya always made things easier, but Lexa would never admit it out loud, not in this reality or the others. The blonde warrior was a shadow, a veil protecting Lexa from falling to the wrong side of the earth. Even right now, she is the reason Lexa is not a sobbing mess, collapsing under the pressure of her history.

She is about to tell her mentor the tale of two ordinary leaders doomed to extraordinary fates when she hears another voice.

“I told you, this alliance would cost you your life, Heda.”

She smiles at Gustus’ presence, always the protector, even when she could not be saved anymore. The way to start her story is revealed in a clear crystal view, and she’s grateful her close friend is here to listen, and mostly, to learn how wrong he is.

“You’re right, Gustus. This alliance stole my life. But you’re wrong too. This alliance also gave it back to me.”

Anya smiles proudly at those words, as if she knew from the beginning that they were going to be pronounced. She briefly interrupts Lexa to reassure the talented warrior she raised.

“You fought well, Lexa. You have nothing to regret.”

***

_She is ten when she meets the woman whose life will change hers for the better and worse._

_She is still learning how to act like a true warrior, never fully letting go of the haunting memories of her childhood. She clings to those innocent spheres of life like they are parts she is afraid will leave as soon as she blinks. She is afraid she might lose herself in someone she is not if she isn’t careful enough, becoming a remorseless shell of a human being._

_She is running in the streets of Polis, excited to spend a day off training to go back to Trikru. She misses her clan. She will always belong to Trikru before anything else. She had been spending more and more time in the Capital, increasing her knowledge, and getting a little closer everyday to her possible fate as Commander. When she collides into the arms of another child, she has her head filled with warm smells of her mother’s meals._

_Lexa curses her distraction._

_Lexa automatically scolds herself before even asking the other girl if everything is fine. A warrior must always look before acting, for they never know where the enemy stands. Had this other person been someone from the Ice Nation, Lexa would not be breathing right now._

_“I apologize, I was not looking.”_

_Lexa freezes, all thoughts of anger gone at the sound of a singing voice. She spends her days and nights hearing warriors and talking politics with other nightbloods. She hears men’s voices commanding her to raise her sword higher, and women’s voices ordering her to throw her knives in a different way._

_Never, in her entire short existence, had she heard such a delicate voice talking to her in such a delightful way. She looks up, and gets slammed by the way turquoise eyes are staring at her in a unique way that makes her heart speeds up._

_The girl seems to be around her age, perhaps a year older or younger, Lexa can’t tell. She bears the mark of Trikru as well, but on her face lays no sign of barbarity, no sign of fight. She wears a light dress, hair flowing on each shoulder. She has dirt in her face, but Lexa is certain it is related to a mere childhood game and not a harsh push to the ground._

_“Are you alright?”_

_Lexa nods, unable to say anything. She is outstanding with anything that requires battle skills, but she is awful at speaking to any other child that has a normal life, unlike hers. They are from two opposite worlds, and Lexa wishes it wasn’t the case, for the first time in her life._

_“I’m fine.” Lexa difficulty says. “What were you doing in my way?”_

_Lexa is seconds away from digging a hole and hiding her face in the humid soil. She feels her cheeks turn pink as the stranger’s eyes narrows. Lexa smiles hesitantly, and starts to believe the other girl will walk away at the speed of a spear thrown by the strongest warrior. She resigns herself to the fact that she will not have normal friends, and proceeds to leave to save herself from further embarrassment, when she feels a light tug at her shirt._

_“I’m Costia.”_

_Costia. This is a magical name, Lexa thinks, and she almost refuses to give hers in exchange. She gives in when she feels her knees go weak under the grin she receives._

_Lexa ignores it, but it is a name she will cherish and bring with her to the other side._

***

Lexa thinks she is dreaming.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Lexa’s soul is trapped in the middle of an unexpected earthquake at the sound of the voice she thought lost forever. If she could cry, she would, but she finds herself being unable to feel anything concrete. Instead, she’s being torn apart from all sides, raped by various emotions, each of them layering on her like walls that will soon crush her tranquility.

A flash of memory from her old reckless days crosses her mind as she shuts her eyes, swallowing the lump in her throat.

She’s not supposed to be here.

She’s not supposed to be stuck in the crossways between universes. She’s not supposed to be hearing this voice. She’s not supposed to be feeling this way. She’s not supposed to feel her soul being rip apart in a painfully slow motion. She’s not supposed to be thinking about what to say in this particular situation.

And most of all, Costia is not supposed to be here, waiting for her.

Costia was never supposed to be here at all, not yet, not before Lexa. She was supposed to live many years older than Lexa, to live and be fully happy.

Lexa takes a deep breath. There are many things that were never supposed to happen. They were never supposed to meet, to fall in love, to be separated in such a merciless way. They were never supposed to meet again, on the wrong side of the thin line that separates humans from cadavers.

She stiffens when she feels soft arms embracing her and a familiar smell surrounds her whole. She clenches her teeth, resisting the urge to bury herself in the familiar person that used to be home. She stumbles over her thoughts, unable to find a logical one, unable to voice them, to walk past the fog.

She isn’t the Commander anymore when she is hidden in those arms. She is Lexa, a ten years old trying to fit into a certain lifestyle, fighting to protect her integrity, struggling to hide her fears of what tomorrow might bring. She is a child, a teenager, a woman whose heart lays in the hands of another, protected from the ugliness of the world.

“You’re here,” the soft voice murmurs in Lexa’s ear.

Lexa nods once, her head breathing in the scent she missed as much as air. She lets herself being held like the most precious person in the universe. She returns the embrace, conveying as much as she can in a such an important touch. She believes she could fall again in this moment, fall and tumble down until she’d crash and break in thousand pieces that cannot be put back together.

“I’m here.”

Lexa doesn’t recognize her own voice anymore. She wonders if her voice changes according to people she interacts with. She had thought about this moment days and nights, weeks and months, and years, and now that it is happening, she cannot think of anything else to say.

“Why are you here?”

It’s a question that asks for no answer, an observation that this is not something they ever would have thought about. Costia refuses to end their embrace, as if Lexa’s presence would bring them back to a thousand years ago, when their story could have reached a happier ending.

Lexa rejects the option of letting go too. The embrace is the goodbye she never had the chance to share, and the reunion she had dreamed of for way too long. It is another page added to their story, one she thought had been over, pages slowly flying away, always farther from her reach. It is a possibility she couldn’t get out of her head, one that has finally come true.

“I missed you so much,” Costia whispers, finally allowing distance to come between them. “I never thought I could miss someone as much I did.”

“I’m sorry.” Lexa replies, struggling to keep her sobs inside while a single unnoticeable tear travels down her face.

The guilt she felt with Anya can’t compare to the ravaging culpability that shreds her from inside. She feels herself falling apart, gravitating straight to the middle of a black hole that eradicates any sign of the happiness she’s supposed to be feeling, replacing it with senses soiled by shame and self-blame. She is physically in pain under those thoughts, despite not being sure if it even is possible.

She doesn’t really care if it is possible or not, she feels it in the way she can hardly stand, the way she wishes to scream her pain out but can’t, the way her throat fights to let her voice out, the way she wants to fall on the ground and never get up. She feels it in the body she no longer belongs to, in the deepest part of her soul.

It makes her nauseous, and dizzy, and maybe even brings her to the edge of passing out.

Costia died because Lexa was named Commander. She had her head cut off in a gruesome way, had her body mutilated with such disdain, simply because she was in love with her, Lexa, the Commander, the warrior. Lexa’s eyes shut close again, thinking of all they ways she could’ve spared Costia from this fate, all the opportunities they had to be together that were dismissed because she had to train, all the protections she should’ve put in place.

Lexa wants to apologize for all that she did, and all she never did.

For every kisses that lead closer to Costia’s death, and every second they spent apart.

For every time she screamed Costia’s name during moments of passion, and the ultimate time she shouted it out of despair.

For every welcoming look they shared, and every time they left without looking back at the other.

She wants to apologize for allowing them to fall in love, while being aware that it was beyond their control, that it was beyond any rational thought they could ever have.

Lexa curses herself. She is by Costia’s side for the first time in forever, and she can’t let herself be happy about it. She can’t savor the taste of their reunion because she is overwhelmed by everything she never had the time to say when they were both still breathing.

She wonders why it is that even now, she feels driven to apologize, to shout every word she would have wanted to say years ago, to make promises she knows are meant to be broken.

She wonders why it is that when death comes and people reunite with their loved one, the first thing that comes to them is to apologize for everything they never did, rather than dwell in happiness of reuniting.

When she was alive, she was haunted by Costia’s death, and now in death, she is haunted by Costia’s life.

“Don’t you dare apologize to me, Lexa,” Costia’s strong voice says. “It is not your fault, and it never was.”

But it was, Lexa thinks. It was, and it is, and even despite everything being over, it still matters, and it always will. There are not enough ways to illustrate her regrets, and Lexa fears that if she can’t make Costia forgive her, she will never be able to forgive herself.

“You’re still as stubborn as your younger years. You don’t have to apologize.” Costia’s hand finds Lexa’s, and the contact feels like a long lost childhood being found again.

Lexa looks down at their hands, staring, unable to move away despite the shadow of a certain blonde leader hovering above her.

“I love you. I loved you,” Costia says.

Lexa almost cries at those words, the ones she had wanted to hear again and again, and again until the end of her days. The ones that had haunted her decisions and actions until the day she had woken up with someone else on her mind.

She notes the past tense, and doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Perhaps a part of her had always expected things to turn out this way.

She believes in love being a higher reality than death, but she also realizes now that it changes, that the person one falls for isn’t always the one they end with.

She knows now that there are different kind of love, just like there are different kind of death, and that she cannot decide which she will live.

“I love you.” Lexa says with a voice laced with relics of intimate times shared between them.

Lexa would never lie about those deep feelings. They are true. They still exist, somewhere at the back of her soul, they are still there, illuminating their own path to the surface. They are real, and Lexa means them, and yet, there is something missing. And somehow, this something is the crucial part, the center of everything, the consistency that brings those three words into a larger reality.

“I love you the way your heart now belongs to someone else,” Costia answers, no trace of anger to be found, only understanding.

Costia was all Lexa wanted at some moments of their lives. But time passed, and tragedies turned the whole scheme upside down. Plans were burned and ideas were forgotten, until new ones were created from star dust.

The little ten years old girl no longer exists, and despite all her efforts, Lexa can’t bring her back.

They keep their hands clasped together, holding them into a past that is no longer attainable.

Lexa wonders if she can love someone in death, the same way she did while she was alive, or if it is meant to be different.

She wonders if love has the same weight once they cross the final line of their lives.

She prays Costia can forgive her for her death, for moving on.

“Tell me about everything,” Costia offers, a gracious smile on her lips.

“Everything?” Lexa asks, resting her head on her past lover’s shoulder.

“Everything.”

***

_Her age doesn’t matter anymore when she meets Clarke of the Sky people for the first time._

_Words are exchanged, alliances are sealed, terms are fulfilled. Lexa faces her younger self in Clarke’s behavior, and is forced to confront her own morals. She fights the will to reprimand Clarke for every mistake the young woman does, reminding herself that being a leader is the hardest position to be thrown in._

_She secretly yearns for Clarke’s capacity to smile, to trust, to love. She feels she has lost hers a long time ago._

_She wishes Clarke had left her to deal with Pauna alone. It would have been easier for the both of them, and it would have been the right thing to do. Instead, they are trapped in a cage, and now they will both be dead by the end of the day. She curses the fact that Clarke not leaving her behind sends her chemical balance in a chaotic storm._

_She wishes she wasn’t affected. She wishes Clarke wasn’t so clueless to the implications brought by being the one in charge. Making hard choices is part of her daily life, and she is sure it will be part of every future minute of her existence. It sometimes tears her apart, but she doesn’t show it. She cannot show it. She cannot appear to be affected, or worse, weak, because her enemies are waiting for this exact signal to attack._

_The coalition might be strong for now, it doesn’t mean Lexa can turn her back to certain clans._

_“You may be heartless, Lexa, but at least you’re smart.”_

_Lexa cannot hold back the tiniest of smiles to appear on her lips, and by the way Clarke’s eyes subtly light up, the Commander believes her ability to show a decent smile may not be all absent._

_“Don’t worry, my spirit will choose much more wisely than that.”_

_She understands Clarke’s worries. The blonde cares for her people, and perhaps that is the only reason why she decided to spare Lexa’s life._

_“Your spirit?”_

_The implications of those two words hits Lexa all at once, and a confused look makes it way to her features. Isn’t Clarke a leader because of her spirit? Wasn’t Clarke born a leader? Wasn’t she trained from her younger years to bear this title?_

_Her green gaze meets a sapphire one, and she sees clearly that Clarke is only a young woman whose destiny has been twisted in a cruel way the moment she stepped on Earth._

_Lexa frowns when she realizes, Clarke was chosen not because of fate, not because of a spirit or traditions, but because she was put in certain situations that coerced her in adopting this role._

_Lexa’s heart slightly aches for the burden resting on the blonde’s shoulders. She understands the way Clarke’s actions are chosen, the words laced with emotions that shouldn’t exist anymore, the sighs of defeat that seem to appear here and there. Clarke isn’t a leader like she is. The Sky woman hasn’t fully grasped the weight that surrounds her, and when she will, Lexa fears it will destroy her._

_Lexa’s hand forms a tight fist as she imagines, in a fraction of seconds, everything that has been stolen from Clarke, every chance at a normal future, every hope of a spared mind from torturous nightmares. Unlike Clarke, she had had no choice. Her whole path was traced the moment she was born. She had grown up in this culture, appropriating its subtlety and sculpting them to fit with her needs._

_“When I die, my spirit will find the next Commander,” she reveals._

_Lexa knows she surely won’t be able to protect Clarke against the terror that is sure to cloud the blonde’s balance, but that won’t stop her from trying. If not in this life, she makes a muted oath that she will in the next._

***

Lexa thinks she is alive.

It might have been a second, a day, a month, perhaps a year, or many of them, since Lexa last lost herself in Clarke’s blue eyes. Time has no control on her anymore, it is a simple concept that reminds her of a life she had before. It is, with the memory of Clarke and Trikru, the only time machine that makes her travel to the past without wrecking her.

She thinks perhaps she gave time too much importance, adding notions of past, present and future, when in the end, she learned, they all end up at the same place, in the same conditions, with the same regrets and unfinished dreams, mixed with a faint satisfaction. She finds it curious, how they add adjectives that describe speed, despite speed being a relative concept. If she is comfortable with her pace, why should anyone order her to change it?

The Commander’s spirit never moved on to another body, to her surprise. She had expected that part of her to leave her, the way a child leaves his house when he no longer feels he belongs, but that moment never happened. She never went back to being “Leksa kom trikru.” Instead, she remained permanently Lexa, Heda, Commander.

She feels a light squeeze at the place where her heart should be beating strong, and sighs, almost painfully.

She doesn’t know if love eternally bonds two people beyond the immovable forces of life and death, but she is sharply aware of Clarke’s arrival in this place.

It hurts and it feels heavenly at the same time, because she can finally stop thinking about the woman who stole her heart, and forgot to give it back when they parted way, and go meet her instead.

She holds back her anger, one that expresses her real feelings toward Clarke’s arrival. She craves Clarke’s presence by her side, but it also means that Clarke’s fight ended. She hopes it was a good death, whatever that means. She hopes it was painless. She prays that Clarke’s life brought her everything she deserved, everything and so much more.

She hopes Clarke didn’t lose herself after her unexpected departure, the way she did after Costia’s death.

She hopes Clarke was spared from the nights of recurrent nightmares, the days of pretending to live, the morning filled by wishes to disappear under her covers, and the nights filled with demands of never waking up.

She hopes Clarke didn’t forget her, didn’t bury the memory of her away.

The thought smashes into her conscience and shatters it. The only thing she truly regrets from her precocious last breath is the way she couldn’t make sure Clarke would be safe anymore.

“Clarke.”

The name escapes her lips without her being able to catch it back on time, and she bends under the relief that comes with the simple act of pronouncing that name. It echoes in every part of her, bouncing in corners she didn’t even know existed until they were sparked back to life by the touch of this word. Lexa doesn’t think it is possible for her to need someone more than she does right now.

She needs to know Clarke is fine, that she is not broken, not scarred by the multiple losses.

She needs to know Clarke was not already lifeless before her body let her soul move on.

“Lexa.”

Lexa’s eyes shoot to her left, to the blonde woman whose eyes hold the universe standing a few steps away from her, as if she had been there the whole time.

The embrace comes faster and harder than expected, and Lexa finds herself trapped in Clarke’s arms, the blonde letting out quiet cries in her shoulder. The tall Commander regresses to being a simple woman whose goal is to simply hold another one until the storm passes. She becomes the shelter Clarke badly needs, and Lexa believes she never stopped having this role despite them becoming slaves of the infinite distance between them.

It feels radically different from the way she embraced Costia. It feels rawer, stronger, more powerful. The way they merge together like they are each other’s remedy is striking and it relieves both of them from an unfulfilled desire that was about to make them both blasted away from who they are.

It feels like reacquainting with another part of them, a part they never wanted to leave behind in the first place.

“You’re real. You’re here. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Lexa almost doesn’t hear the way Clarke’s words clear themselves from the sobs and tears. She almost misses the way Clarke repeats an apology like it is the only mantra she lives for, the way Clarke doesn’t look up, keeping her head buried in Lexa’s chest, trembling.

Lexa wonders once again if is it possible for people to die without having a single reproach, a single regret, without having anything to blame themselves for.

Here is the woman who gave forgiveness to so many, but never once to herself.

It is a shame, she thinks, because she would rather see Clarke’s bright smile than a river of tears, but she has been in this situation herself. Clarke needs to let it out, and only then can they have a conversation.

A conversation.

With Clarke.

Lexa’s soul almost implodes under the idea, one that was impossible simply moments ago. It may take hours for one to be born, but it takes a single second for death to slice through them, to remove the light from their eyes.

Clarke’s cries intensify as the blonde gets surrounded by the sound of a gun going off and the vision of a bullet piercing through a body she had only started to discover. A bullet that was never meant to attack this person. A bullet that meant for her, not Lexa, and a wound she should’ve been able to treat, but failed to.

Clarke had not broken down after Lexa’s death. She had not cried for days, focusing on every other element on her way, every tasks she could find, even the most useless ones. She had buried those feelings deep inside, in an unreachable place of her soul, until it had all exploded under the intense pressure.

The only way to wipe the mark of madness off her face had been to remember every moment Lexa’s smile had illuminated her world, every look that would last a minute too long between the two of them, every moan that would make her body shivers from pleasure in the comfort of a bed.

The only way to stop the mark of sadness from rolling on her cheeks had been to scream out loud in the vast forest, hidden by the beauty of an ecosystem that had been splashed by blood too many times. The only way to stop the screams from coming out had been to punch the nearest trees until her hands started bleeding abundantly. The only way to stop the bleed had been to drown her limbs in glacial water, until someone had rescued her from hypothermia.

It had been all she had thought about for so long, until one morning, it stopped hurting, replaced by a feeling of pure numbness. She had then used this void as a springboard to move on with her responsibilities, to fix the catastrophic mess left behind her, to create new alliances and eradicates any trace of misplaced violence.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke’s muffled voice repeats. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m just… you’re here. I never thought I’d see you again, and you’re here, and real, and I’m holding you, and I’m breathing your scent, and looking in your eyes, and I feel your arms around me, and I could kiss you.”

Lexa’s arms tighten their hold at the last words.

She thinks perhaps love doesn’t need time to exist.

Love happens, whether slow or fast, in every world, in every dimension, in everyone’s heart, not paying attention to the restrictions of multiples laws of science or immortal beliefs. It blooms and comes alive at the most unexpected moments, only to disappear in a blink, or remain forever engraved in one’s soul. It leaves a trace, sometimes an antidote to the vilest poison, sometimes transforming into a venom itself.

Lexa’s shirt is soaked when Clarke finally emerged from her hiding place, and the late Commander wipes the blonde’s cheeks with her thumbs.

 “Clarke, stop apologizing. You need to let it out.”

The way Clarke’s eyes fill with tears again makes Lexa’s soul go through another torturous journey.

“Say it again,” Clarke’s raspy voice pleads.

“What?”

“My name.”

Clarke has never heard her name being whispered in a most beautiful way than the way Lexa’s voice carries its legacy. She forgot, a long time ago, how it sounded like from Lexa’s mouth, and now she will make sure her memory never let go of this song.

“Clarke.”

“Again.”

“Clarke.”

“Again.”

They whisper those two words for an endless amount of time, until Clarke’s eyes finally get rid of all salted liquid, until Lexa’s voice becomes traced by dryness. They face each other, hands clenched, chests heavy from unspoken words that go back to their last meeting.

“Say mine.”

A single request to wipe out every second spent away from her.

“Lexa.”

It sounds like being alive.

“We meet again,” Lexa murmurs so quietly that Clarke almost misses it.

Memories flood over them, and despite the impulse to simply lean on and capture those lips with hers, Lexa resists. The embrace was heartfelt, but she still has no idea what Clarke has been through, and she respects the other woman too much to rush things, even now.

She wrestles with the thought that Clarke may have moved on, the way she let go of Costia. It would be unfair to blame Clarke for something she had done herself, but the hurt would not be lessened.

The blonde sighs loudly, emotions threatening to break down her walls once again, walls that have become much stronger since Lexa’s death, and much thinner, since their embrace. The traveler’s blessing, the way she recited it as they had both face the inevitable, rings in her head. Despite its beauty, she never wants to recite it again.

“I spent my whole life missing you.” Clarke admits. “I never found someone like you. I never dreamed of anyone else.”

Lexa looks for something in the way Clarke’s eyes are glued on her. The green eyed woman searches, and digs deeper under the blonde’s surface, absorbing everything she is offered, everything that has never been said, every regret and moment of joy shared between them.

“I missed you.” Lexa says, and it is a tremendous feeling to finally say it in the past tense.

Clarke looks for something in the way Lexa’s eyes are fixated on her.

She finds it within seconds.

When their lips meet, it doesn’t feel like years have passed between their previous kiss and this one. It feels like it has always been the most logical thing to do. It is a gesture they both have been used to, yet one that still takes them off guard in the most mind-blowing way. It is a welcome, a promise they made many lives ago, one that is impossible for them to break.

They trace each other’s lips in a delicate dance, almost afraid that moving faster would break the illusion that everything is fine. Clarke’s hands find Lexa’s neck, pulling her in, slowly deepening their contact. When they finally taste each other, Lexa moans at the way Clarke’s tongue dances with hers, automatically leaning closer to the blonde’s body.

The taller woman traces every curve, every line of Clarke’s body in the softest possible way as they both convince themselves this is all they need to be whole. Her hands brush lightly against Clarke’s sides until they settle on her lower back, pushing them closer.

She can’t stop her tears from falling, and they mix with the kiss, adding another flavor. She feels Clarke’s chest against her as the battle for dominance grows exponentially. They’ll never be close enough, not in this life, and not in the next. They’ll never grow satisfied of each other’s presence. They’ll never get past that burning feeling that ravages everything inside of them, leaving only a single trace of passion behind.

Lexa separates their lips for half a second, chuckling at Clarke’s protest.

“I love you,” she confesses, echoing the moment she changed her mind last time they were caught in a similar situation.

She doesn’t ever want to hold these words back again.

She wants to repeat them to whoever wants to hear them, and whoever isn’t listening.

She wonders if death can die too.

She feels alive.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This is a story. I have absolutely no idea what happens after we die, so if I insulted any beliefs in any way, it was not intended. I repeat, NOT intended.
> 
> Note 2: If you haven't read my other story, you totally should because it's angtsy but it has a fluffy happy ending (unlike the show). *self promotion over*
> 
> Until we meet again... :)


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